culmination
by writerdragonfly
Summary: "What's weird is how weird it isn't." Stiles wakes up the morning after to an empty bed. Sterek.


**_Written for halesanchor on tumblr and AO3._**

* * *

><p>What's weird is how weird it <em>isn't<em>.

The mornings after with Malia had always been odd. He'd loved her, totally and utterly, but... But waking up next to her had always been this strange thing. Almost awkward. Neither one of them had experience in the protocol of it, neither one knew how it was supposed to work outside of television and movies. And she was always a wild thing in whatever she did. He didn't fault her for that.

He didn't know how Derek had been with Braeden. He knew that he'd loved her, certainly, even if their relationship had ended with her leaving to go after another job.

When he woke up, the bed beside him was empty but he could hear a faint metallic clanking that let him know that Derek was still near.

Stiles took a moment to himself before he even thought about making an attempt at crawling out of the sinfully awesome bed, taking in a long drag of breath. Even though he wasn't a werewolf, he could still smell _them_, the way their scent tangled together and hung in the air. He let a happy sigh at that, smiling up at Derek's ceiling.

Maybe, he thought, maybe we were always building to _this._

He finally clambered out of bed a full five minutes later, slipping back into his boxers and stretching out his sore muscles before he looked around for his shirt. He threw on his plaid overshirt without buttoning it, letting it hang open on his bare chest. He thought, _hoped_, that Derek would like seeing his marks on display.

Derek was in the kitchen when Stiles wandered in, standing in front of the stove. He wasn't naked, which was a shame. Seeing Derek naked was definitely something he needed more of.

But Derek was wearing nothing but his incredibly sexy boxers and _Stiles' _t-shirt and what looked like an apron, so he would take what he could get.

Derek turned to face him then, and the smile on his face when he sees him is nothing short of _blinding._

The apron, which Stiles was delighted to read, said "_Kiss the Cook" _ in bright red lettering. Of course, he was more than happy to comply. He kissed Derek's lips softly, breaking off just so he could _look_ at Derek.

_Did he really get to have this?_

"Do you like strawberries?" Derek asked him. It definitely wasn't Stiles had expected Derek to say, but it wasn't a bad thing by any means. Just very unexpected.

"Uh, yeah. My mom was allergic, so we never had them in the house much though." Stiles admitted, smiling sheepishly at Derek.

"There's fresh strawberries in the fridge. If you want?" Derek told him, smiling again before he turned back to the stove and _masterfully flipped a pancake with just the pan._ What even?!

Stiles found the strawberries easily enough, pulling the small crate out and setting it on the counter. He started cutting them without even thinking about it, snatching tiny glances at Derek as he did it.

His face went hot when Derek caught him looking, but he didn't comment on it. He just smiled a little smile with his perfect bunny teeth and _flipped another pancake._

It took a moment before it occurred to Stiles that Derek was showing off, that he was _trying to impress him_.

Derek, who had been someone Stiles looked up to and admired from almost the start, who he respected and cared for and trusted for such a long time that it felt like he always had, that Derek would want to impress him made something in Stiles burst.

Something that made him want and need more than anything they'd done the night before could ever have accomplished.

He wanted _this_. This domesticity and comfort and _Derek._

Maybe he hadn't ever realised how much until it was staring him in the face, but did that matter? He knew it now. How long had he wanted Derek without being aware of how _badly_ he wanted to be _with _Derek?

Stiles put the rest of the crate of strawberries back into the fridge, taking the opportunity to just watch as Derek cooked. He pulled a pan of bacon out of the oven and Stiles watched the slight twitch of the muscles in his arm and _how had he waited so long?_

_Why_ had he?

Derek tilted the pan again to flip another pancake and it just _came out._

"I'm in love with you."

So, Derek couldn't catch a pancake when you completely threw him off guard. Except very nearly with his face.

And Stiles definitely did _not_ mean to say it. He meant it though. He definitely meant it.

He didn't know how long he'd been in love with him, whether it was a gradual thing over years of danger and friendship and closeness, or a sudden thing that had just happened. He didn't care.

Last night had been the culmination of years of teasing and jokes and life saving actions and phone calls and texts, and the culmination of glances and flushed faces and casual touches.

Last night had been amazing from the first accidental kiss to the last gasp of breath as they came at the same time.

And this morning was what they were meant for, and Stiles felt that in every syllable of that sentence, even if he hadn't meant to say it.

Derek just _stared_. He just stared at him, his eyes going over Stiles' face as if he was searching for something that Stiles was saying without words.

He knew his face must be beet red by now, but he refused to stop looking right at Derek as Derek took everything in.

"You really mean that," Derek finally said, his voice slightly hoarse and full of such _wonder._

Stiles kissed him then. Just crowded far into his space and threw his arms around him and pushed his lips to Derek's with as much force as he could muster in the moment, and _kissed him._

It wasn't their first kiss; it wasn't even their first kiss of the morning. But it felt like _a first kiss_. It felt like it meant something and it did mean something. Maybe it meant everything.

Derek kissing back felt like a promise.

They parted after a minute, and Derek just pressed his forehead against Stiles' and smiled.

"You have pancake in your hair," Stiles murmured a moment later. Derek snorted, backing away and scratching his head with his fingertips until he got it all out.

"Good boy," Stiles said, smirking a little. Derek whipped him with a tea towel before he went back to finishing up their breakfast, and Stiles didn't even care.

Derek sat his plate of pancakes down, slapping at Stiles' hand when hit reached forward to snatch one. And then, Derek placed a plate in front of Stiles too.

Maybe Derek couldn't say it with words, not yet. But Stiles had felt it in his kiss, and he could see it now, written out in bacon on top of his pancakes.

I U.

Whatever came next, they could handle together. Of that, they had no doubt.


End file.
